


Waiting at the Edge of the World

by CynicalModerate



Series: Effects & Consequences of a New God [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 6x22, Drama, God-Angel, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalModerate/pseuds/CynicalModerate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley waits for God and reminisces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting at the Edge of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Gil Scott-Heron's cover of "Me and The Devil". In fact, Crowley's last line is taken from the song. It fit with what I was going for. I've got to admit, I have no idea where Season 7 is going to take the Winchesters or what is going to become of Castiel. Is he the new villain, or will it be rectified during the season premier? Questions, questions. Anyway, hope you like this.

_"It must-a be that old evil spirit..." ~ "Me and The Devil"_

Crowley sits on the edge of the world with a drink in hand and wonders if it will be enough.

Not the drink – he'll never run out of that. He's got supply and stock to last a life time, several if he manages it right. He's already killed the liver of his vessel several times over, but it doesn't matter to him anymore. Never mattered, never will.

No, he wonders if the world will be enough.

Enough to satisfy It's hunger, It's lust, It's appetite for destruction and renewal. He's stopped referring to Castiel as, well, Castiel. Whatever that thing was he saw before fleeing for his life, it certainly wasn't Castiel. So he calls the once-angel 'It' or – if the demon is feeling snarky or is particularly drunk, "God".

Crowley's been counting the days since he fled and waited, running when he felt like he needed to even though he knew it was futile. Nothing would stop It from coming after him. But he did learn the Winchesters survived their encounter with It and are on the move just like him, so he feels in good company.

The demon has been paying attention to world news as well, the ash-puking volcano in Iceland, the killer-storms ripping across the United States, the droughts and famines that had hit countries all over the world. He watched the sudden coups and military uprisings, risked walking the butcher fields in Africa where It had walked just to see It's power, stepping through the mutilated bodies with their limbs hacked off by machetes or riddled with bullets, leered at the slaughtered children clung tightly to the breasts of mothers who just hours earlier had been raped by men driven mad with tainted Grace and angry Souls. He had visited one other place that suffered the same fate, a small village outside the Holy Land – the proximity to one of the Old God's most sacred places bringing a smile to the demon's lips.

Crowley couldn't help marveling in it, the insanity and bloodshed worthy of a demon and Hell itself. But he was frightened as well by the ferocity and chaos of it, the signs clear that while It was powerful, It was having difficulty controlling It's new found godhood. If it didn't learn to get a grip on Itself, it would rip the world apart.

So here he sat on the edge of the world and wondering.

Well, it wasn't the edge of the world. It was a cliff that overlooked the cold Atlantic, a place he remembered when he human…he thought he remembered. Were they his memories?

He shook his head and took a drink, feet dangling over the edge of the precipice. It wasn't the edge of the world, but it was poetic and he liked that. The crashing waves roaring on the rocks below, the bleak sea with its cold spray and the grey sky unyielding.

Would the world be enough for It? Would it find enough to maim, to rip, to burn, to destroy? What purpose would it find? Did the signs of nature, the seemingly indiscriminate murder and death, the madness, did it serve some unseen purpose It had?

He was a demon; he should know answers to questions like that. Was the prospect of oblivion at the hands of the new God skewing his thinking? Probably – with Lucifer there was at least the chance of survival, of hiding.

Not with this new thing.

"Hello, Crowley."

The glass froze just before reaching his lips, his eyes closing in relief.

Relief.

No more running, no more hiding.

"Hello, Your Grace," he said, attempting politeness but the venom was still there. He didn't look behind him. "To what do I owe this audience?"

"I have plans for you, Your Majesty," said gravelly voice.

Crowley smiled and let out a small laugh at the condescension in It's voice, the mocking honorific he'd been address with so very un-Castiel.

But then, this wasn't Castiel anymore.

"Do you?" Crowley lowered his glass to his lap, resting it on his thigh and taking a longing look out among the cold ocean. The memory that may or may not have been his whispered in his mind, reminding him of a man – a naïve, silly man – who had stood at this spot and thought it too was the edge of the world.

Stood at the edge of the world and met the devil.

And now Crowley stood here, meeting a different kind of devil.

The demon stood up and dusted off his pants, drained the last of his drink and tossed the crystal glass off the edge. Somewhere below it shattered amongst the rocks, its pieces lost forever.

Crowley turned and straightened his jacket, flashing a smug grin at the thing before him.

"Well then, Satan," he said, relishing the angry look his word's produced, "I believe it's time to go."

The demon noticed the moment's hesitation in the sapphire eyes, an unspoken question lingering before a hand went up and grabbed his shoulder.

Then the thunderous sound of wings and white light, and they were gone.


End file.
